


And Lead Me Not Into Temptation

by TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG



Series: Temptation [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bad Decisions, Bisexual Peter Parker, Bottom Peter Parker, Canonical Character Death, Coerced Consent, Daddy Issues, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, FFH SPOILERS, Fake Fluff, First Kiss, First Time, Illusions, Language, Lies, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Manipulation, Mind the Tags, Mostly Canon Compliant, Older Man/Younger Man, POV Peter Parker, Pet Names, Peter Parker Has Issues, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Porn With Plot, Power Imbalance, Praise Kink, Quentin Beck is the actual worst, Statutory Rape, Trash Ship, Underage Sex, Unreliable Narrator, Unsafe Sex, use condoms kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 07:11:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19883680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG/pseuds/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG
Summary: They had talked, and it had feltgood. Like Beck took him seriously, as though he was an adult, even though Peter really doesn’t feel like one.





	And Lead Me Not Into Temptation

**Author's Note:**

> I am going to hell in a fucking handbasket for this.
> 
> According to my math, Peter could be anywhere from 16 to 18 in FFH but who knows. So this is technically at the very least statutory rape.  
> I also cranked this out in like 2.5 days, so if you find any mistakes, you can keep them.

He has no one to blame but himself, really.

It had all started out innocently enough, or so Peter tells himself. After the fight against the Elemental, after the absolutely gut-wrenching terror of thinking he had lost Beck, the older man had asked him to have a drink with him, taking him to a corner bar, quiet and almost cosy. Peter is still quite proud of himself for rejecting the offer of “just one beer”, sticking to lemonade, even though the slight smirk Beck directed at him following the rejection sent heat into his cheeks.

They had talked, and it had felt _good_. Like Beck took him seriously, as though he was an adult, even though Peter really doesn’t feel like one. It’s the kind of conversation he had always hoped he’d have with Mister Stark one day, when the man stopped seeing him as a nerdy kid and started treating him like the Avenger he had said Peter was. Talking to Beck like this feels better than it hurts, though, and they spend a good half hour discussing the multiverse and what this revelation means for quantum physics as Peter knows it.

But Peter was on edge, still, wired from the fight, brimming with adrenaline, and he knew there was only one way to release that energy, and that’s how he finds himself in a toilet stall, pants around his knees and his cock in his hand, his mind finally quiet as he strokes himself.

Quiet, at least, until he hears the door to the bathroom open. He freezes, bites his lip to keep himself from breathing too loudly, and waits.

“Peter? You okay in there?”

Peter’s stomach drops, and he lets go of his cock like he’s been burned. “Uh. Yes?” His voice is squeaky with embarrassment, and he quickly tugs up his pants, wincing when he has to shove his still hard cock inside. For good measure, he flushes before he opens the stall door, trying not to look too guilty and knowing he’s failing utterly.

Beck is leaning against the door frame, arms crossed loosely in front of his chest, his face obviously, carefully neutral, and Peter looks away quickly as he walks to the sink, as he turns on the water and washes his hands. He feels too warm and cold at the same time, shame burning through him, and he draws out the process far longer than he needs to, knows it’s becoming awkward, but really, what about this is not awkward?

Finally, he turns off the water and dries his hands on some paper towels, and, with a deep breath, turns to face the other man. The neutral look on his face has given way to an amused tilt of his lips, his body language more relaxed now, and Peter feels his face grow even hotter. “I was just...”

“Peter,” the other interrupts, his eyebrows raised ever so slightly. “You don’t have to explain.” He pushes himself away from the door frame, uncrosses his arms, and motions at Peter. “You’re a healthy young man, you’re probably still filled to the gills with adrenaline… It’s only natural,” and he ever so slowly drags his eyes over Peter’s body, from his feet up to his eyes, his smile turning suggestive, “that you’d have to let off some steam.”

He didn’t think he’d be able to blush more and yet he does. “I swear I wasn’t-”

Beck steps forward, until Peter can see the tiny flecks of gold in his eyes, and then he’s cupping Peter’s still raging erection through his pants, and Peter’s brain short-circuits. “Weren’t you,” he breathes, and Peter tries to say that he really wasn’t, tries to say anything, but he can’t.

He knows this is wrong, that he should tell this man, this _adult_ , to leave him alone, to take his hand away. May raised him better than this, he is better than this, but instead he finds himself pushing his hips forward, against Beck’s hand, and the only thing that comes out of his mouth is a whimper.

“Want me to walk you home,” Beck asks, quietly, and Peter nods.

God help him, he just nods.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Peter is fidgety as they walk into the hotel, expecting his classmates or teachers to stumble into their path any second, and he’s hyper-aware of his body in relation to Beck’s. Aware of the amusement the man is still wearing on his face. He really should put a stop to this. Maybe let Beck walk him to his door and then firmly tell him this was a misunderstanding, that he’s not interested. Never mind that he would be lying through his teeth.

They make it to Peter’s room without encountering anyone, and when he unlocks the door, he takes a deep breath and turns to look up at Beck. The smile is still on his lips, but there’s a strange look in his eyes that makes the words die on Peter’s tongue.

“You gonna invite me in?” The man’s voice is low, sending a shiver up Peter’s spine, and now he can identify the look. It’s hunger, and Peter feels like prey all of a sudden.

“Uh...” He doesn’t know what to say. He wants to, but he knows he shouldn’t. Really, _really_ shouldn’t, for more reasons than he can count, but when he hears a door open down the hallway, he reacts before he can think, and he grabs Beck’s hand and pulls him into the room, throwing the door shut. His heart is racing, and he leans forward and drops his head against the door, lets the air rush from his lungs. He thinks about MJ, about his plan, and it feels like his heart seizes up in his chest. _What the fuck am I doing?_

He stiffens when Beck steps into his space, when the man winds his arms around Peter’s middle, loosely, but oddly possessive. “You know, I’ve been wondering about you. If you, pardon the pun, swung this way.”

“Wh-why would you wonder about that? I mean, y-you had a wife, didn’t you?”

Beck huffs a laugh, a warm burst of air against the back of Peter’s neck that raises goosebumps all over him. “Don’t tell me you don’t have bisexuality in this universe.”

“No, I mean, yes, we do, it’s just...”

“You’re cute when you’re nervous, you know that?” And before Peter can even think to form a reply to that, Beck tugs, gently, until Peter’s back is flush against his chest, and Peter’s breath hitches. “You think too much, Peter. Just enjoy the ride.”

And then he’s kissing Peter’s neck, and _Jesus Christ_ , this is not what Peter expected from this trip. Beck moves up, from the place where Peter’s shoulder meets his throat, to his ear, and Peter shivers, gasps when Beck sucks his earlobe into his mouth, moans at the slight pressure of teeth. He is so tense, coiled like a spring, and hornier than he can remember ever being, and his hips twitch, backwards, against Beck’s, and he groans as he feels the other man’s cock against his ass.

“Come here, beautiful,” Beck says and turns Peter around, and when he looks up, there is no trace of amusement left on the man’s face. The hunger has taken over completely, and Peter feels scared for a moment to be the focus of that, until Beck cradles his face, tenderly, gently. “Let me make you feel good,” he says, his breath warm against Peter’s lips, and he closes his eyes in anticipation.

The kiss is innocent at first, chaste, just a dry press of Beck’s lips against his own, the sort of kiss Peter remembers May giving him occasionally when he was still little, and it feels wrong, for some reason. Too… paternal, given the situation, and Peter opens his mouth with a little sigh, licks against the seam of Beck’s mouth. Another moment, and Peter thinks, _He’s gonna change his mind now, he doesn’t want me_ , before Beck slides a hand into his hair and tilts his head.

Peter is lost, entirely, lost to the sensation of kissing, all his senses going into overload. Beck smells like expensive cologne, and Peter can taste the beer he had earlier. His beard is softer than Peter thought it would be, it tickles, almost, tickles just like the hand pushing under his shirt, up his back and along his spine, and _oh_ , he thinks he’s going to catch fire.

“Mister Beck, I...” His voice is high, needy, as he breaks the kiss, and Beck smiles down at him.

“Quentin, remember?” He moves his hand from where it’s been tangled in Peter’s hair, down to his neck, looks at him expectantly.

“Yes, sir.” _God damn it_. “I just...” He feels himself blush again, and before he can chicken out, he says, “I’ve never had sex before.” He doesn’t say that he’s never even kissed anyone until today, because if he did he would definitely die of embarrassment.

Beck goes very still for a second, and Peter looks up at him through his eyelashes, mentally prepares himself for the rejection. What would the man want with an inexperienced virgin like him? Surely he’s more trouble than he’s worth, he must be, he should just stop this now before he embarrasses himself further.

But instead of letting go of Peter, of putting distance between them, Beck puts an arm around Peter’s waist and hoists him up, and Peter reflexively winds his legs around the other man’s hips as he takes two steps, until Peter’s back hits the wall. Beck’s other hand goes under his thigh, to the curve of his ass, and then he’s kissing Peter again, he’s almost rutting against him, and Peter holds on for dear life.

Beck – Quentin – kisses a trail down Peter’s throat, nips at his collar bone. “God, you’re gorgeous, darling,” he breathes into his skin, and Peter whimpers. “If you want me to stop, tell me,” he says, even as his fingers dig into the spot where Peter’s ass meet his thigh, as he presses their erections together, and Peter gathers all the bravado he has and says, “What do I say to get you out of your costume?”

“That depends.” The man smirks. “Think you can handle it?”

And part of Peter wants to say no, because he knows how fucked up this is, that this adult man is here, with him, is offering sex to him, but fuck it. He’s not a child. If he can handle being an Avenger, he can handle sex.

He tries very hard to ignore Mister Stark’s voice in his head, telling him that he’s definitely not ready. Not that he had been talking about this, but still. It stings. _None of us are ready_ , he thinks, and he leans forward and kisses Beck, winds his fingers into the man’s hair.

They help each other out of their suits, and Peter goes a little wide eyed when Beck finally stands in front of him in nothing but his underwear. He’s… handsome. Not jacked, like Cap or Mister Barnes, no, but… Peter licks his lips, and Beck smiles lop-sidedly. “Come here.”

Peter goes, on bare feet and only wearing his boxers, and again Beck cups his jaw and kisses him, feather-light and sweet, and when he starts walking backwards, Peter follows. He lets Beck direct him onto the bed so he’s on his back, spread out on the sheets, his heart going a mile a minute. Beck stands over him for a moment, looking down at him with what Peter can only describe as desire in his eyes, and he feels very warm. The other man joins him then, pulls Peter against him again, and Peter whimpers. Beck shuts him up with another kiss, slow and languid, until Peter feels about ready to melt into the mattress.

He’s hard again, and when finally Beck’s hand moves down, away from his jaw, over his throat and down his chest, he shivers in anticipation. Beck, however, seems to have other ideas, when he instead rubs a thumb over one of Peter’s nipples, again and again, until Peter fidgets, until he can’t contain a little whine of impatience.

Beck chuckles as he draws back a little. “Just can’t wait, can you?” And then, watching Peter’s face, he twists his nipple between thumb and finger, and Peter gasps. It’s painful, yes, but… It’s like lightning is running up his spine, and he curls his toes into the sheets. Beck cocks an eyebrow. “Did you like that?” Peter swallows heavily, then nods, and Beck’s smile widens. “Use your words, honey.”

His throat feels tight, like his voice is stuck there. He swallows again, licks his lips. “Yes,” he finally croaks. “I like it.”

Beck’s smile gentles, ever so slightly, and he kisses him again, strokes his palm over Peter’s ribs. “Good boy,” he breathes, and Peter feels light-headed.

His hand moves further down Peter’s body, over the dip of his waist, up the slight swell of his hip, and Peter goes still when Beck’s fingers slide under the waistband of his boxers. Not far, just the fingertips, really, but it’s enough to make his heart beat faster. Beck just strokes his skin, and again Peter starts to fidget after a while. “Please, I...”

“What do you need?” Beck’s voice is low, dark and full of promises, and Peter winds his arm around the other man and moves closer, until they are touching from chest to knee.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, and Beck chuckles.

“Maybe this?” He kisses Peter’s temple, the crown of his head, the tip of his nose, until Peter shakes his head. “Or this?” He moves his leg, then, pushes it between Peter’s thighs until he’s straddling it, and Peter moans. Beck kisses him, softly, and then the hand at Peter’s back moves lower. “Or maybe this?”

One of his fingers slides between Peter’s cheeks, brushes against his entrance, and Peter goes completely rigid.

Beck pulls back slightly, watches him. “Too much? I can stop if you want me to.”

“No!” Peter surprises himself with the force of his reaction. He has fingered himself before, he’s not afraid of putting something into his ass, but most of all he doesn’t want the man to think of him as a child too scared of sex. “I just… I didn’t expect it, that’s all.”

“Alright.” He looks at Peter again, a strange look in his eyes. “Do you want it?”

Peter swallows around the lump in his throat. “Yes. Please.”

If he had to put a name to the expression on Beck’s face, he would call it ‘triumphant’, at least for a split second before the man leans forward and kisses him again. And why wouldn’t he feel that way, honestly, now that he’s about to get some virgin ass? Peter blushes at his own train of thought.

Beck tells him to take off his boxers in a quiet voice, and he manages to do it without his head exploding. “Front or back,” Beck asks, and Peter lies down on his stomach, mostly because he can hide his face that way, can muffle any noises he might make in a pillow. The other man slides his hands over his back, his shoulder blades, draws a finger down the line of his spine, and Peter jumps. He doesn’t know what to expect. The most he’s put up his ass were two of his fingers, and while he’s had truly spectacular orgasms that way, he doesn’t know what it will feel like to have someone else in there.

Well. He’s about to find out.

The other is still stroking his back, one hand now moving down to cup his ass, and Peter shifts, pushes his cock against the mattress with a little sigh. Beck chuckles. “Slow down there, tiger.” He leans down, breathes against Peter’s ear, “If we’re gonna do this, I want you to come on my dick.”

And oh, all the blood in Peter’s head rushes south at that.

Beck’s fingers are in front of his face then, gently pushing against his lips, and Peter opens his mouth without really thinking about it, lets Beck push them inside. The weight of them feels strange on his tongue, not unpleasant, just… odd. Saliva pools around them, and he closes his mouth as much as he can to stop himself drooling. Beck hisses when he, as a result, sucks on his fingers, his free hand going into Peter’s hair. “That’s it, honey, get them nice and wet for me.”

Finally the man is satisfied, pulls his hand away, and Peter braces himself. Done wrong, this is at best unpleasant, as he learned the hard way, but then Beck stretches out beside him, so they are skin to skin, so they’re sharing breath, as he moves his hand down to the curve of Peter’s ass. He kisses him, softly, slowly, and Peter feels himself relax. Only then does Beck slide his fingers between his cheeks, does he run the tips over Peter’s entrance, and Peter tenses, reflexively.

“Do you trust me,” Beck asks into the space between them, and Peter wills his muscles to unclench, makes himself relax, and just like that, Beck pushes one finger into him. Not far, barely past the first knuckle, but it’s almost enough to tip Peter over the edge. He groans into the pillow, grabs the sheets. “That’s it, honey,” Beck murmurs, “nice and slow.”

He takes his time working Peter open, fucks him with just one finger for a while, until Peter is pushing his hips back against his hand, until he’s panting, until he says, “Please, Mister Beck, _please_.” Beck sits up then, pulls his finger free, and spits on his hand, spreads the liquid around Peter’s entrance before he pushes two fingers into him, and Peter whines. Beck’s fingers are thicker than his own, and it burns, just a little, but it feels _so fucking good._

Finally, he appears to think Peter is as prepared as he is going to get, when he pulls his fingers free and presses a kiss to Peter’s temple. “I’m going to fuck you now, darling,” he says, and Peter moans, grinds his hips against the mattress again. Beck moves beside him, pushes off his underwear, and Peter gasps when Beck presses himself against him again, the hard line of his cock trapped against Peter’s thigh. “Do you want that? Tell me.”

“Yes,” Peter whispers, “yes, I want it.”

“Full sentences, honey. You’re too smart for half-answers.”

“Yes, Mister Beck, sorry. I… I want you to fuck me. Please.”

Beck kisses him again, softly, licks into his mouth. “Good boy,” he says, and Peter feels warm all over. The other pushes himself up, straddles Peter’s thighs, spits again, and then there is the weight of his cock nestled between Peter’s cheeks, and it’s the most erotic thing Peter has ever experienced. “You wanna hold yourself open for me, that makes it easier,” Beck says, voice low and dark, and Peter reaches back, spreads his cheeks, and the other man groans. “God, you’re so good for me, darling.”

And then he’s pushing into Peter, and lights pop in front of Peter’s eyes. His cock is much bigger than Peter had thought, or at least it feels that way, and he gasps, his fingertips digging into his cheeks. “Oh, oh, _fuck_ , Mister Beck, I-”

“Sssh, it’s okay, honey, just breathe, you’re doing so well,” Beck murmurs, strokes a hand down Peter’s back, and Peter does as he’s told, he takes deep breaths, tries to relax, and Beck slides in further. “Yes, just like that, darling, just like that.”

Peter is on fire, he’s melting, he has never felt anything like this. Beck bottoms out and stays still for a long moment, and Peter throws his head back, whimpers, and Beck reaches, slides his fingers around Peter’s throat, his thumb under his jaw.

“You okay, Pete?”

Peter whimpers again, nods. “Yes, I’m-” Beck rolls his hips then, just a little, and Peter’s answer dies in a gasp. The man chuckles, slides his hand down, over Peter’s throat, until he can brace himself on the mattress.

And then he starts to move, slowly, so slowly, out, then back in, and Peter arches his back, finds himself pushing into the man’s thrusts, and it doesn’t take him long to start babbling, because of course he does, his mouth is his biggest enemy after all. And Beck _loves_ it, he knows, loves it when Peter begs him, “Yes, please, sir, please, harder, _harder_ , oh _fuck_ ,” knows it by the way he obliges him, by the smile Peter can hear in his voice when he says, “Such a good boy, such a good little slut,” because really, isn’t that what Peter is? What kind of a person other than a complete slut would let themselves be fucked like this by a virtual stranger? It’s humiliating, shame burning through him even as he lifts his hips off the bed, as he pulls his knees under him, but it’s worth it, so worth it, when Beck fucks into him just that much deeper, when he kisses his shoulder blade, when he calls him, “My darling.”

He is coiled tight, his orgasm just out of reach, and he doesn’t know if he even wants to come, or if he just wants to be here, in this moment, forever. Beck takes that decision from him, when he reaches under Peter, wraps his hand around his cock, and Peter groans.

“Do you want to come, darling?” He strokes Peter, slowly, once, twice, and Peter whimpers, pushes back, desperate.

“Please, Mister Beck, can I?”

Again, Beck groans against his shoulder, his grip on Peter’s cock tightening. “God, could you be any more perfect,” he asks, with a twist of his wrist, before he straightens, taking hold of Peter’s hips. “Go ahead, touch yourself if you want.” And then he really starts fucking him, with short, almost vicious thrusts, and Peter screams, screams into his pillow even as he reaches down, as he grabs his cock, stroking himself, and it takes an embarrassingly short amount of time. He stiffens, his whole body going rigid and his mouth going slack as he comes, as Beck continues to pound him into the mattress, and it’s the best thing he has ever felt.

After, he hears Beck curse through the haze that has taken hold of his mind in his post-orgasmic bliss, the man’s fingers digging into the flesh of Peter’s hips, and then he is being crushed beneath Beck’s body before he rolls to the side, winding an arm around Peter and holding him close. He’s still inside Peter, still hard, and Peter whimpers softly.

“That,” Beck says, breathless, “was absolutely amazing.” He kisses the back of Peter’s neck, splays his fingers on his chest. “You were amazing,” and Peter hums happily.

“Yeah, it was… You, too.”

Beck chuckles, kisses him again. “Let’s maybe keep this to ourselves, yeah? Fury doesn’t need to know.” And Peter blushes a deep red, the mere idea of Director Fury knowing about this too mortifying to even consider.

They stay like that for a while, until Beck softens and slips out of him. He presses a last kiss to Peter’s neck before he pushes himself to his feet. “Can I use your shower?”

“Sure,” Peter says, and watches Beck walk into the bathroom. _He really has a very nice body_ , he thinks, and then he grins to himself. Yeah, this definitely wasn’t what he had been expecting.

Later, when Beck is done showering and comes back into the bedroom, his hair tousled and wearing nothing but a towel around his hips, Peter licks his lips, and Beck smiles, before he takes him by the hips and pulls him to the edge of the bed, before he sinks to his knees between Peter’s thighs and takes his half-hard cock into his mouth, and Peter thinks he might just die then and there. And when he fucks him a second time, with Peter’s ass hanging off the side of the bed and his legs wound around Beck’s waist, Peter is so overstimulated that he starts sobbing as he comes again.

He falls asleep, after, thoroughly exhausted, curled up against Beck’s side with the man’s arm around him.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Peter wakes when somebody knocks on the door of his room, startling him out of a strange dream that he barely remembers. Beck is still beside him, looking similarly sleep-tousled, and Peter jumps out of bed, grabbing the towel Beck discarded on the floor earlier and winds it around his hips.

He unlocks and opens the door, and his heart plummets into his feet. “MJ! Uh, what’s-what’s wrong? Is something wrong?”

MJ stares for a moment, and he realises that she’s looking at his bare chest. “I, uh… No, not wrong, per se. I just.” She finally drags her eyes up to his face. “Mister Harrington sent me to see if you were here. We’re leaving tomorrow.”

He remembers his plan then, the plan that has been ruined already anyway. “What? No, we can’t leave!”

“Why not?” She frowns at him. “I mean, Ned and Betty almost died today, and you...” She stops abruptly.

“What about me?”

“Well, you’ve been weird. Weirder than usual, I mean.”

He remembers the necklace, and decides to hell with it. “Do you wanna go somewhere?”

“I...” MJ frowns again, then smiles a little. “With you?”

“Yes.” He can feel his cheeks growing hot. “With me.”

And MJ shrugs one shoulder, smiles a little more widely. “Sure. Why not.” Her smile turns into more of a grin. “You should get dressed first.”

“You’re probably right,” he says, clutching the towel, laughing nervously. “Ten minutes?”

“Sure.” She turns and waves over her shoulder. “Ten minutes, weirdo.”

Peter grins and closes the door, towel still wound around his hips. Maybe his plan might still work, even if he has to make some adjustments.

“That your girlfriend?”

His eyes snap up to Beck, who sits on the bed. He’s pulling on his socks, not looking at Peter, and for some reason, Peter feels guilty. “N-no, she’s… She’s in my class. We’re… kind of friends, I guess.”

“But you like her,” Beck says, looks up at him as he gets to his feet to pull on his pants.

“I, uh...”

“Peter, it’s okay.” The man smiles, walks over to him. Cups his jaw and kisses him, softly. “I’m not jealous,” and there’s humour in his voice.

Peter runs his hand through his hair, feeling awkward. “Yeah, I… I do like her.”

“Then you’d better get dressed before she decides you’re not going to show up,” he says before he turns away with a smile and picks up his shirt.

Peter grabs his backpack, and as he tosses it on the bed to look what he needs from inside it, E.D.I.T.H. tumbles out, and his heart seizes up. _To the next Tony Stark_ , the note had read, and as he looks up and sees Beck, watches how the man snaps his cape back into place, he has a moment of clarity.

“Mister Beck?”

“Hm?”

“I…” He picks up E.D.I.T.H., holds the glasses out to the man. “I think you should have them.”

Beck stares at Peter, then at the glasses, before he shakes his head. “No, Peter, Stark left them to you. There’s a reason for that.”

But Peter keeps holding them out, convinced now that this is what Mister Stark wanted. He didn’t mean for Peter to have them, couldn’t have meant that. Peter is supposed to pick someone, and Beck is the perfect choice. “Please, at least try them on.”

The man does, reluctantly, and when he places them on his nose, Peter’s breath catches. The similarity is uncanny, even though Beck’s eyes are green and Mister Stark’s were brown, although Beck’s beard is a little more unkempt, but it’s enough to make Peter feel a little queasy.

“See,” he says, motioning at the mirror. “Perfect.”

Beck looks at his reflections for a moment, before he takes the glasses off again. “Peter, I can’t accept this. This is a huge responsibility.” He hands them back, and Peter makes a noise of protest. “No, Peter.”

But Peter sucks at listening, and so he places E.D.I.T.H. on his own nose. “E.D.I.T.H., transfer control.”

E.D.I.T.H.’s voice is in his ear then, mild-mannered as always. “Who do you want to transfer control to, Peter?”

“Quentin Beck.”

Beck looks disbelieving, his hands twitching at his sides. “Peter...”

“Please confirm,” E.D.I.T.H. says, and Peter replies, “Confirmed.”

E.D.I.T.H. beeps lowly, and Peter takes off the glasses. “There.” He holds them out to Beck again, who takes them with a sigh.

“I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Peter, for trusting me with this.” He folds the glasses before he steps closer, hooks a finger under Peter’s jaw. “I’ll be seeing you,” he says, kisses Peter gently, and then he leaves, literally through the window. Peter watches him fly away, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

*~*~*~*~*~*

And then everything goes to hell.

It’s a blur, really. He hardly has time to breathe between finding out the truth, almost dying (again) and being picked up by Happy in an actual tulip field, because if you’re gonna go to Europe, you might as well live all the clichés.

He feels sick to his stomach when he confronts Beck, up in the Tower Bridge, and he can’t help remembering all the nice things the man said to him. Were any of them true, he wonders?

He gets his answer, in a way, when Beck opens his mouth.

“Did you let Stark fuck you, too? I know you said you were a virgin, and you sure sounded like one, but you know, I wonder. Wouldn’t surprise me, knowing the man.”

Peter is speechless with rage at the accusation. No, Mister Stark would have never…

And that’s when he realises, _really_ understands. What Beck did to him.

Beck smirks, and then he vanishes. Everything does, and Peter is alone in the dark again. He tries to swallow his rage, tries to brace for the inevitable attack, but it never comes.

At least not a physical one.

The dark melts away in front of him, and is replaced by a shape, a face, a body, and Peter can’t contain the whimper. “No, don’t...”

Tony Stark comes to a stop in front of him, wearing that lop-sided smile of his, and Peter feels tears prick at the backs of his eyes. “Hey, kid.”

Peter knows it’s not real, of course he does, even without his stupid Peter-Tingle, he can’t not remember watching the life drain out of Mister Stark, but oh, he _wants_ to believe it’s real, at least for a second. The man is still smiling, but when Peter looks up, the truth of the situation hits him like a hit to the gut. There is no warmth in this Mister Stark’s eyes, none whatsoever, where the real Tony always looked at him with warmth, even when he had been mad enough to spit.

“You’re not real,” he says, finally, and the man smirks.

“Peter, Peter, Peter. Always trying to play with the big boys, and always failing.” He cocks his head to the side. “I wonder why I ever trusted you with anything, when you just go and disappoint me, every single time.”

“Shut _up_ ,” and now Peter can’t hold back the tears.

“Or what?” The man spreads his arms, seemingly defenceless. “Are you going to hit me, Peter?” His smile widens, and Peter’s hand twitches into a fist. “Oh, touchy.” He steps forward then, suddenly, into Peter’s space, and Peter’s breath catches in his throat. “I really should’ve put you over my knee instead of just taking away your toys,” the man breathes.

Peter shoves him, hard, and the man stumbles back. “Get the hell away from me. You can’t trick me any more.”

Again, the man smirks. “Can’t I?” The image shifts, and now it’s Iron Man, not Tony Stark, in front of him. “You’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass, and it’s time to clean up this mess.” Peter barely has time to blink before the man lifts his hand and shoots at him, and while it looks like one of the suit’s repulsor blasts as it zips past his head, it feels… like bullets.

And so Peter swallows around the lump in his throat, closes his eyes, and ignores everything except for what his Peter-Tingle is telling him.

When it’s all over, he looks down on Beck, who is on the ground, clutching at the gunshot wounds in his belly, and he feels no relief. “How could you do all of this?”

Beck manages to smirk at him, even as blood trickles from the corner of his mouth. “You’ll see, Peter. People… need to believe.” His smirk widens, and Peter feels sick to his stomach. “And nowadays, they’ll believe anything.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

Back in New York, things somehow manage to go back to normal, or at least as normal as his life ever is. He finally manages to ask MJ out on a date, and while things with May and Happy are weird and awkward, he decides that that is _really_ not his problem.

He tries to go back to being a normal teenager, he really does, but it’s… difficult. More difficult even than after the Blip, after Mister Stark’s death, and his newfound relationship with MJ is the only thing keeping him afloat, if he’s honest with himself.

So it shouldn’t surprise him half as much as it does when he looks up at the screen, standing next to MJ, when that moron Jameson appears on screen. His stomach shouldn’t drop as much as it does when Beck stares back at him then, and it definitely shouldn’t feel like someone pulled the floor out from under him when it’s his own face he’s looking at, because really, what did he expect from someone like Beck?

And as he turns and sees his own shock mirrored on MJ’s face, he thinks, _So much for being the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man._


End file.
